


A Meeting

by nostalgic_breton_girl



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, In which Julienne, Whiterun, a smol and precious breton, also featuring julienne and marcurio being adorkable, meets arcadia, who will later be one of her best friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic_breton_girl/pseuds/nostalgic_breton_girl
Summary: Inspired by the prompt 'Meeting'. - Julienne and Marcurio went on to Whiterun after Riverwood, Alvor and Hadvar having requested that they ask the Jarl to send reinforcements. This task done, and the reinforcements sent, they decide to stay in the city a few more days, to recover from the catastrophe at Helgen.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Marcurio
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	A Meeting

Market-day: and despite the tension in the air – one cannot help but be tense, when one lives in fear of an assault by a dragon – all was bright, spirits were high enough, Julienne allowed herself to relax. Oh! if there was one thing she hadn’t expected from Skyrim, it was the breezy cheer of their markets, even in approaching autumn. – Shouting, advertisement, far less restrained than their Cyrodiilic cousins; the smell of meat, and baking; what looked like half of the population, doing their leisurely rounds, there as much on social business as commercial.

She was drawn first towards a stand piled high with baked goods; and though Marcurio rolled his eyes a little, he did not object when she bought him a sweetroll, as well as one for herself.

‘I’ll never understand Nords,’ he said, when they were out of earshot of the proprietor: ‘piling all this cream on a perfectly good sweetroll.’

‘If you’re going to complain about it, _I’ll_ eat it,’ said Julienne.

The threat was enough; he wrapped it tightly in its paper, out of her reach, and seemed to take a decent enough pleasure in scooping out the cream on his finger and licking it. – They nibbled at their cakes while perusing a few of the other nearby stalls, before turning their attention to the shops which stood about the market-square.

One of them was the shop which had been advertised to them already: Belethor’s General Goods, a fairly prominent affair with a freshly-painted sign. The other’s sign was more worn, but quite clearly depicted a pestle and mortar.

‘Oh!’ said Julienne: ‘an alchemy-shop!’

‘I reckon we ought to buy food first,’ protested Marcurio: but it was too late, she was already gravitating towards the door.

But he was good-natured about it: she hadn’t looked so happy in days. They entered; the proprietor greeted them; Julienne looked about her, took in the atmosphere, and the heady scent on the air, oh! that scent which she knew so well, which permeated every alchemist’s haunt in Tamriel... the indescribable cacophony of flowers, of singed wood, musty dried garlic – always dried garlic: the experienced alchemist knew to have a bunch, to overpower their less salubrious ingredients – and the tingling of magic, for alchemy is a gently magical art, even if mages sometimes scoff at the notion.

‘Browse to your heart’s content,’ the proprietor said, with a smile and a nod towards Julienne, who was looking starry-eyed at everything, reminded of home: ‘and if you need anything, you have but to ask.’

‘I _think_ we’re just browsing,’ said Marcurio, with a rapidly increasing doubt.

Julienne ran her eyes over a shelf covered in bundles of flowers, all of them neatly tied together, and labelled in a tiny copperplate hand; the rainbow of potions, beside them, similarly labelled; she leaned over the desk, stared hungrily at an ebony mortar and pestle.

‘Oh!’ she said: ‘it’s _just_ like Agnete’s shop.’

‘Agnete?’ said the proprietor.

Julienne turned, a little startled, and stammered:

‘My... my great-aunt is an alchemist... she has a shop, like this one.’

‘Not in Bruma by any chance?’

‘...yes, in Bruma,’ said Julienne wide-eyed. ‘Do you... do you...’

‘I don’t _know_ her as such,’ the woman said: ‘but I met her, once... Ha. That was a few years ago, now. – Oh!’

She studied her over the counter, grinned.

‘You’re her great-niece? – I remember a child. That must have been you. Oh! you’ve grown, certainly.’

‘Not much,’ quipped Marcurio, and Julienne prodded him.

‘My name’s Arcadia. I doubt Agnete ever mentioned me; I haven’t seen her since. A shame. We might have got on... I stayed in Bruma a couple of days, before attempting the crossing to Skyrim. I was young then... didn’t know as much about alchemy as I thought I did... Agnete taught me a little. I don’t really remember, now. But I know I learnt a good few tricks from her, in those few days.’

Her head was upon her palms, and her mind in reminiscence; she started herself from reverie, smiled.

‘But look at me... rambling like an old woman. – So Agnete is still running her shop? – I’m glad.’

A few more pleasantries; and then Julienne and Marcurio introduced themselves. – Arcadia was most pleased to meet a fellow Imperial: but it was Julienne to whom she evidently took, this little reflexion of Agnete, and a fellow-alchemist. Julienne blushed initially, at the implication that with Agnete as a teacher, she must be a spectacular alchemist already; and she was nervous, conversing with a near-stranger; but to Marcurio’s surprise and her own, she relaxed quickly, and soon the two were waxing lyrical about alchemy, and all its joys and technicalities.

They had been talking for a good while, and broaching increasingly obscure territory, when Arcadia glanced up, and noticed that they were one short.

‘Your friend’s wandered off,’ she said with a smile: ‘we’ve scared him, I think.’

‘Oh!’ cried Julienne. ‘I should... I should find him.’

‘Or keep him on a lead,’ said Arcadia. ‘Well! I shall leave you to it. It’s been most pleasant. You will have to come again, and perhaps we can work on some potions together.’

‘Oh! could we?’ said Julienne: ‘I’d... I’d love that.’

‘I’m always here,’ said Arcadia, ‘and you’d be most welcome. If you want to use any of my equipment as well, feel free.’

‘Thank you,’ beamed Julienne.

‘Now,’ said Arcadia: ‘I don’t suppose I can offer you a potion or two, before you go? Or some ingredients?’

‘I would buy everything,’ said Julienne, ‘if I could afford it, and if Marcurio would approve.’

But she managed to pick out a few bunches of flowers, and a little packet of assorted mushrooms; she paid for them, and stuffed them in her little satchel, along with the plants she had picked at the roadside the previous day, and not had time to sort.

‘Perhaps I... I think I will come this, this afternoon, if you don't mind,’ she said: ‘I quite want to use an alembic.’

‘Of course,’ said Arcadia: ‘and perhaps in return you might impart some of Agnete’s secrets? – Until this afternoon, then: and once again, it has been marvellous to talk to you.’

‘And... and you as well,’ said Julienne, with feeling.

She found Marcurio absently perusing the trinket-stall, and before he saw her, she came up from behind and stuck a flower behind his ear; he protested this adornment, but did not remove it, and took her arm.

‘Is your alchemy itch sated now?’ he said with a grin.

‘I’m going back this afternoon,’ she replied: ‘we are going to work together, a bit.’

‘You seem to get on pretty well.’

‘She reminds me of Agnete...’ Julienne considered: ‘I don’t think she’d want me to say it... she is much younger. But... I think we could be friends. I _want_ to be friends with her, oh! she is so nice!’

**Author's Note:**

> as you may or may not have already figured, the mention of sweetrolls having too much cream on them references the fact that oblivion (=cyrodiilic?) sweetrolls are plain cakes


End file.
